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Irish Examiner
16-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Examiner
Tributes paid to Cork artist Willie Harrington following death at 84
William 'Willie' Harrington, who has died aged 84, was a well-known character and artist around Cork city. Fiercely independent, he flirted briefly with teaching as a career, but chose instead to dedicate himself full time to his work as an artist. Harrington was born in Coppinger's Lane off Shandon St in 1941. His father Jack, a baker, died of TB when Harrington was four, and he contracted the disease himself around the same time. 'The doctors were going to amputate his fingers,' his friend Patrick Dunne recalls. 'But his mother went down to the priests at St Francis's on Liberty St, and they wrote to Padre Pio to ask his advice. Padre Pio wrote back, saying she should take him out of hospital and care for him herself. Later in life, he said, Willie would make great use of his hands.' Harrington's mother Ellen did as Padre Pio suggested, and his prophecy was proved to be correct. Harrington drew avidly throughout his childhood, and he went on to attend the Crawford Municipal School of Art on a scholarship from 1955. Willie Harrington's illustration of Séamus Murphy appeared on the cover of the Cork sculptor's memoir, Stone Mad. He continued his studies at the National College of Art in Dublin before returning to settle in Cork. He specialised in pen and ink drawings of the city's people and buildings, many of which feature as illustrations in Seán Beecher's Dictionary of Cork Slang, published in 1983. Today, Harrington is remembered with great fondness by his fellow artist Billy Griffin. 'I knew Willie forever,' he says. 'I grew up on Blarney St, so we were neighbours. We both went to school at the North Mon, though he was years ahead of me there. 'I remember one time, when I was a young fellow, I was on my way down to the Crawford with a few pounds to sign on for an evening course in drawing. I bumped into Willie, and he persuaded me to go along to the Palace Bar to meet Séamus Murphy instead. We drank the few pounds, of course. Willie promised he'd teach me drawing, and he did teach me about the invisible line, I'll give him that. It's where you start a line but don't necessarily finish it; you let the viewer to fill it in in their imagination.' Harrington famously illustrated Séamus Murphy's memoir of his life as a sculptor, Stone Mad. His lively drawings are preserved in the latest edition of the book, published by Mercier this year to coincide with its selection by Cork City Library for the One City One Book initiative as part of Cork World Book Fest. Another image of Willie Harrington by his friend Patrick Dunne. 'Willie was a family friend,' says Murphy's son, Colm. 'My father taught him art, and my mother Máighréad helped set up the Cork Arts Society gallery on Lavit's Quay ,so people like Willie would have some place to exhibit their work. He even had a studio above the gallery for a while. 'One of the breweries, I think it was Murphy's, got Willie to design the signs above their bars. There's still a few of those around; the Vicarstown Inn on North Main St, and the Constellation Bar in Blackpool. The Constellation has a number of his drawings on the walls as well.' The pubs of Cork, and those who frequented them, were undoubtedly the greatest inspiration for Harrington's drawings. He was, Griffin observes, the last of a bohemian circle that included the late Maurice Desmond and John Behan. 'Maurice, John, Willie and myself used drink in Kealy's Bar in Faulkner's Lane,' he says. 'We were the Four Musketeers; I was D'Artagnan, the youngest. But they're all gone now, and so is Kealy's.' Harrington was predeceased by his partner Toni, and his brother George. Visitation open at O'Connor Bros. Funeral Home, North Gate Bridge on Thursday, July 17, from 5pm-6pm. Requiem Mass takes place on Friday, July 18, at 10am in the North Cathedral in Cork, with the funeral afterwards to St Joseph's Cemetery, Tory Top Road.
Irish Examiner
15-06-2025
- Business
- Irish Examiner
The landlord: 'I never signed up to be that f***ing b***ard'
In 2003, I was 37 and doing just fine. Jack's army was coming home we couldn't give the Eurovision away, the Chinese loved Riverdance, and everything Irish seem to be sprinkled with gold dust. My generation was raised by ambitious parents who had lived a hard life in the 1950s. They wanted their kids to have what they had not and were willing to sacrifice to put us in position to avail of the opportunities that hadn't existed in their time — universal second-level education and invigorated schools such as the North Mon, who did their bit in putting some intellectual balance back in the city. My brother and I both went to college and got our degrees. For us and for the country, the word was about that our time had arrived. Unfortunately, the country had no muscle memory when it came to boom and bust cycles. Risk was taking a dive off the high board in the Lee Baths — in relation to property it did not compute. My first foray into property was quite a swashbuckling affair. With a friend and a €7,000 credit union loan guaranteed by my mother, we brought a sliver of a pub wedged into the space where Patrick Hill joins McCurtain Street. That wasn't to be the last time I heard the word guarantee. Apparently, the pub had previously been the central hub for the Cork gay community and Na Piarsigh hurling club, a winning formula if ever there was one. Shortly after that, an opportunity arose to purchase four houses in rural North Cork. Ulster Bank was offering 105% five-year interest-only tracker mortgages. Our plan was simple. We would use the Germans' money to buy, hold for five years, and having had the benefits of an uplift, sell the properties, pay off the mortgages and retain the profit to be rolled over in the next adventure. The properties were purchased in 2003 and the plan was to sell in 2008 just before the interest-only tracker expired. One of the properties is about 40km from my home and difficult to get to. For the past 20 years, this has been the home to a family who professionally are my tenants, but who personally are my friends. The rent was set 20 years ago at €650 per month. We left it alone, and they left me alone. I did try to amend the rent before the last State intervention but it transpired that it, even though it was very isolated, it was within the Fermoy electoral area and therefore the rent could not be increased. The market rent is now approximately €2,000 per month. My tracker mortgage has had a good run of recent times, but this was not always the case and my subsidy of what is a State responsibility has cost me dearly. In the Government's private rental sector changes, the institutions will be sorted but it looks bad for me — cap of 2% rent and minimum of six years tenure. The accidental landlords will once again be cannon fodder for what the constitution describes as the exigencies of the common good. In truth, I can't see any combination of politicians left to their own devices squaring this circle. I do feel the idea of a property tsar with teeth and with follow-through is the way forward. My preference would be to look at it with clear eyes and appoint someone who is not a politician or a civil servant. but is politically astute, respected and who gets things done. I do fully appreciate mine is only one side of the story. On the other side, we have a family who are part of the community and who will find it next to impossible to locate alternative accommodation. I drove from Ballycotton to Cork last weekend and saw nothing but green fields. Land is not our problem. The larger builders insist if given the right conditions, personnel is not a problem, and the banks as an act of contrition should do as directed and fund viable projects if promoted by experienced operators and stick with them until completion, even if the going gets sticky. We live in a small country with an intelligent, young and charitable population. Fixing this should not be beyond us. Having got my wind back before tea, the 9pm news knocked me backwards and just left me uncertain and unsure. This time, my muscle memory did kick in and at 9.20pm, I drove into town, took myself to the RTB website, and prepared as best I could four notices to quit with supporting documents, including the statutory declaration which will confirm that it is my intention to sell the properties. I put my notices in the letterbox and called the tenants the next morning to let them have the bad news. To my horror, I discovered that one had just lost her husband and this will hit her terribly. I do fully appreciate mine is only one side of the story. On the other side, we have a family who are part of the community and who will find it next to impossible to locate alternative accommodation. Their plight is exponentially worse than mine. However, neither of us should be put in this position. The country needs accommodation, and we need a lot of it, but what we really need is certainty. Release those landlords currently trapped and start again with a modern, fair and permanent regime. Keep tinkering and they will sink us all. I never signed up to be that f***ing b***ard. Kevin O'Donoghue is a solicitor and founder of Read More Rental sector changes will encourage landlords to evict tenants, Focus Ireland warns
